The Black Stallion
As a horse crazy kid, The Black Stallion by Walter Farley was essential reading alongside the novels of Marguerite Henry and classics like Black Beauty, National Velvet and My Friend Flicka. But whenever I remember the story, what comes to mind is the deliberate magic of Carroll Ballard's celebrated film adaptation. Ballard (Fly Away Home, Duma) directed only six films over his 25-year career, four of which were "boy and his horse" stories—a touching genre examining unique relationships formed between children and animals. Often the child is adrift in a vulnerable season, finding purpose and solace in the companionship or nurturing of a wild creature. But perhaps what makes Ballard's films most memorable is the way he captured the unpredictable beauty of working with real animal actors—truly a lost art in the modern age of computer animation.
The Black Stallion follows the story of the sole survivors of a devastating shipwreck: A freckled boy left fatherless and a mysterious untamed stallion. The good first half of the movie is nearly wordless, only the sound of waves orchestrating the dance between an apprehensive beast and the patient kid attempting to earn its trust. By the time they are rescued, their bond is so strong the boy refuses to leave the island without the horse in tow. Back in America—an overstimulating contrast to the sparse island—the boy struggles to readjust, but the stallion saves him again through the pursuit of a new passion: racing.
I vividly remember reading a magazine article about Ballard's final film, the story of a runaway boy in Kenya on a quest to return his pet cheetah to the wild. Released in 2005, Duma was heralded as the last film of its kind. Sadly, this prediction has proven true in these days of hyperrealistic animations fulfilling their prescribed roles with unsurprising precision. I can’t help but wonder if these seemingly perfect models have fed into the societal disregard for preserving our dwindling wildlife. All it takes is one viewing of The Black Stallion to restore to me the childlike wonder and overwhelming privilege of friendship with any of God’s sacred creatures.
